‘Pray take it upon yourself to tell him so. No doubt you will succeed in convincing him.’ ‘You are ridiculous, sir.’ When he, Myles, had by any chance a leisure hour, he would go--even after the nights had grown dark, and frosts of winter had set in--up the dreary length of Blake Street to the wicket of the empty Stonegate, and, leaning upon that support, would stand gazing at the emptiness and the desolation of it. No one lived there. A woman came some few times in the week, and spent the day there, lighting fires and throwing open shutters and windows; but that was all. It had always, at the best of times, been a dreary-looking, sad, cold place, but now it was forlorn in its mournfulness. If it had not been so utterly lonely, Myles would not have gone there. No one he knew ever came past. He had his watch-post to himself, and probably found some kind of mournful, unsatisfactory joy in his vigils. Always it remained the same--empty, closed, desolate--always void of her presence--always without sign or indication that it would ever again be gladdened by it. Her name had never been mentioned, either by him or his friends. He was absolutely ignorant of where she was, or how; of what she was doing, whether she were happy or sad; of every fact and circumstance connected with her. CHAPTER V. ‘Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen; Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn; Du, du, machst mir viel Schmerzen-- Weiss’ nicht wie gut ich Dir bin!’ The spell--the long silence--was broken at last. One evening towards the end of April, when he had been seven months in Thanshope, he first had any news of Adrienne. The Mallorys were in London, and had been there since the opening of Parliament in the beginning of February. Myles had had all the work and responsibility at home laid upon his shoulders. His work for the day was over, and, the evening being fine and the air pleasant, he turned out for his usual stroll up Blake Street. As he came nearer to the house, he saw a man standing in the garden, and as he approached still nearer, he recognised the man; he was Brandon, Mr. Blisset’s old servant and factotum. The windows in the front of the house were all open, and glittering in the rays of an April sunset--mild and cool. Brandon was standing, looking meditatively towards that sunset, and towards the moors to which it formed a flaming background. His hands were in his pockets, and he was softly whistling a tune. Myles paused, and the man turned round. There was a mutual recognition. Brandon had been three days in the town, and had heard all the gossip there was--all about Myles’s changed position; and while he looked pleased to see an old acquaintance, he touched his cap as to a superior. Myles, wishing him good evening, rested his elbow on the gate, and said. ‘Are you living in Thanshope?’ ‘No, sir. I only came here for a few days on business.’